


Not Soldiers Anymore

by bcbdrums



Category: BBC Sherlock, Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Ambiguous Relationships, Angst, Angst and Feels, Angst and Humor, Best Friends, Brotp, Canon Compliant, Episode Fix-It: s04e03 The Final Problem, Episode Related, Episode: s04e02 The Lying Detective, Episode: s04e03 The Final Problem, Family, Feels, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Humor, Friendship, Friendship/Love, Gen, Happy Ending, Humor, Identity, Identity Issues, Implied Relationships, Implied Sexual Content, Male Friendship, Male-Female Friendship, Mild Language, Missing Scene, Moral Ambiguity, Moral Lessons, No Slash, OTP Feels, Off-screen Relationship(s), Plot, Plothole Fill, Season/Series 04, Sexual Humor, Swearing, Tags Are Hard, The Final Problem
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-25
Updated: 2017-01-25
Packaged: 2018-09-19 21:00:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,463
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9460265
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bcbdrums/pseuds/bcbdrums
Summary: Sherlock finally turned back to John.  "She wanted to—"He stopped with a sharp intake of breath.  John straightened and shifted closer to his friend.  "Wanted to what?"Sherlock turned his head away, and John watched his shoulders rise and fall slowly as he struggled for control.  Then the detective turned back with a gaze so piercing it startled him.  "She wanted to hurt me.  Again."[Open the fic and read the notes!]





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [owlcroft](https://archiveofourown.org/users/owlcroft/gifts).
  * Translation into Русский available: [Уже не солдаты](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13381485) by [petergirl10](https://archiveofourown.org/users/petergirl10/pseuds/petergirl10)



> A/N: Hello! First, to my followers waiting for updates to "Always Will," I've been more than a little wrapped up in Sherlock... Don't worry, it's coming! Now then, this fic...
> 
> I have gifted this fic to owlcroft, the absolute best Sherlock writer in the fandom! She and her co-author should be writing the episodes! Go read all her fics right now (...er, after you read this one)!
> 
> 1) Read these notes!
> 
> 2) This fic is actually good! 
> 
> 3) This fic is rated Teen & Up for some swearing/crude language and pretty blatant discussions of sexuality. I honestly wouldn't even want teens reading it, but it's technically not "mature," so, there you have it...
> 
> 4) Personal Disclaimer: The views and attitudes presented by the characters in this fic are not necessarily representative of my attitudes as a person. But I'm going to write characters true to who they are, even if I personally disagree with them in some ways.
> 
> 5) I am an American. This has not been Brit-picked. Please inform me of anything horribly American that adversely affects the flow.
> 
> 6) There will be extensive notes at the end detailing my opinions on Series 4, ships, plot-holes, Mofftiss, etc. It will be somewhat harsh in tone, so remember you are always free to hit the back button! But respectful intelligent discussion is encouraged. If you don't want the emotional impact of the fic spoiled, you may want to skip my end notes all together.
> 
> 7) All Sherlock fans should be familiar with Martin Freeman removing script dialogue and saying "I'll just do all that with a look." I have tried to write the characters just as they are played, communicating much with just looks rather than overt dialogue. Be aware that sometimes you will have to read between the lines!
> 
> 8) This is not a fic for someone just starting their foray into the Sherlock fandom. This is a fic for the diehards, who can tell you anything about any episode, any trailer, well-known memes, etc.
> 
> 9) THE PLOT: This fic is a missing scene from near the ending of "The Final Problem." It was supposed to be really short, and then...I couldn't get John and Sherlock to shut up! So it's long now.
> 
> This is a John & Sherlock story. Molly has one brief scene, Greg makes a cameo, and other characters in the tags are mentioned in dialogue only.
> 
> This picks up immediately from where Sherlock realizes he can't bring Eurus home and John says he gave her context, then Sherlock asks him if that's good or bad, and John tells him it is what it is. On the show, the scene stops there. I've added what comes after. Enjoy!!!
> 
> EDIT: 1/28/17 This has been edited for grammar with some very slight content changes.  
> EDIT: 2/1/17 Edited again for grammar with very slight content changes.

 

 

"It is what it is."  
  
John shivered and pulled the blanket closer.  
  
Sherlock glanced toward him, dipping his chin and furrowing his brow in response to John's rising one.  
  
"So...the bones I found, in the well..." John prompted quietly.  
  
Sherlock closed his eyes and took a deep breath.  "Victor Trevor."  
  
John watched as Sherlock opened his eyes again and stared back in the direction of the hole that had nearly become a grave for two.  
  
"He was my best friend.  We played pirates."  
  
John bit down on the name 'Redbeard' and nodded instead, even though Sherlock couldn't see it.  "And...Moriarty?"  
  
"Was only too happy to help Eurus," the detective said, taking his hands from his pockets and crossing his arms.  
  
"Was it...her plan, or his?"  
  
Sherlock finally turned back to John.  "Mostly his.  But then he died and it was incomplete.  She wanted to—"  
  
He stopped with a sharp intake of breath.  John straightened and shifted closer to his friend.  "Wanted to what?"  
  
Sherlock turned his head away, and John watched his shoulders rise and fall slowly.  Then the detective turned back with a gaze so piercing it startled him.  "She wanted to hurt me.  Again."  
  
John stared back into Sherlock's eyes, bright with exhaustion and relief.  
  
"But locked up in there, she didn't know how..." he realized.  
  
"So she arranged for some reconnaissance in London.  Gathered information.  Refined Moriarty's plans."  
  
John's teeth chattered as he shivered again.  "She was very perceptive," he said shakily.  
  
Sherlock pursed his lips and gazed at him with 'the face,' and something else.  John wondered at the uncertainty he read in his friend's eyes.  Momentarily he seemed to arrive at some decision, but before he could act—  
  
"Sherlock."  
  
Both men turned at the sound of the voice behind them.  
  
Greg took a step back, something suddenly causing him to hesitate.  
  
"Yes?" Sherlock said, turning to face him fully.  
  
"Before you called me, I got a call from Molly, asking if you were all right."  
  
"Molly?"    
  
"Yeah.  She said you'd called her this afternoon, but when she tried to call you back she couldn't reach you."  
  
"Yes," John said, "It was one of Eurus's tests.  She was going to kill her, was going to blow up her flat.  Sherlock had to get her to say the code to prevent it before the time ran out."  
  
Greg stared at him, saying nothing aloud but his gaze communicating volumes.  John was familiar with that look, but it was usually directed at Sherlock when the D.I. knew he wasn't getting the complete story.  
  
"Well," Greg finally said, "she's here."  
  
"What?" Sherlock and John said together.  
  
"Yeah, I called her back and let her know what was going on.  She insisted on coming.  Seems really shaken up."  
  
Sherlock glanced down and tugged his collar up higher.  
  
"I'll talk to her," he said quietly.  
  
"Right," Greg said, and turned back toward the cars.  
  
Sherlock moved to follow but was stopped by John's hand catching his sleeve.  
  
"Sherlock," he said.  
  
His friend slowly looked up to meet his eyes with a world-weary gaze.  
  
John released the breath he'd been holding at the same time he let go of the sleeve.  "Right.  Um...let me know if you need me."  
  
Sherlock grimaced, shaking his head against the impossibility—no, improbability, John mentally corrected himself—of all of it.  The detective sighed uncharacteristically as he turned to follow Greg again.  
  
John watched as they strode through the grasses, silhouetted against the assemblage of police cars by the floodlights.  When they were halfway there John saw a familiar, slight figure step out of Lestrade's BMW.  
  
She wasn't wearing a coat.  
  
John cursed under his breath and ran after them, nearly tripping over the blanket as he did.

Sherlock looked askance at him when he fell into step alongside.  Despite himself, John cowed slightly.  
  
"Just...if you need me," he said, teeth still chattering.  
  
"Not soldiers anymore," Sherlock muttered, and John looked up at him in surprise.  
  
Sherlock halted with John beside him about twenty paces from the car.  Greg had continued on, but also stopped when he realized he wasn't being followed anymore.  
  
They could see Molly's face now, partially obscured by the dark.  She looked just as she had in the video feed from that day.  Just as she had looked when John first met her, the doctor having been ignored entirely by the young pathologist in favor of the imposing figure of the consulting detective.  
  
It was a look that spoke to all that Sherlock had deduced simply by looking at her coffin.  Practical about death, but with a reason to live.  
  
Greg looked between Molly and Sherlock and his expression sobered.  "Right.  I'll leave you to it," he said, and strode away briskly.  
  
John planted his feet firmly in the grass as Sherlock stepped forward.  When the detective had halved the distance between them, Molly began moving as well.  John watched as she clasped and unclasped her hands tightly with each step.  
  
Sherlock didn't stop until they were barely a foot apart, and they stood together in silence.  
  
Molly glanced up several times but wouldn't look on his face fully, her eyes darting away hurriedly each time they touched upon his.  
  
"Nice joke," Sherlock finally said.  
  
Behind them John's eyes widened as Molly's narrowed.  
  
"Sorry?  What?"  
  
"Your voicemail.  'Dead center of town.'  It's funny."  
  
"Oh..." she said.  
  
"I have a sister."  
  
Molly looked up at last, her curiosity besting her, and met his hesitant gaze.  
  
"That's what...Greg said."  
  
"A sister of whom I had repressed all memory.  She murdered my best friend when we were kids and has been locked in an asylum ever since."  
  
Molly's eyes widened and she stared at him openly, her unyielding compassion beginning to show past her distress.  
  
"She trapped us there for hours, murdered at least five people and had several more lined up," he continued, turning his head back ever so slightly.  
  
Molly looked past him to where John shivered under his blanket, watching them with wary eyes.  
  
"John?" she asked.  
  
"And Mycroft.  And you."  
  
She took a step back and bowed her head a moment before looking up in embarrassment.  "Me?"  
  
"Of course you," Sherlock said gently, defying her diffidence.  "She wanted to hurt me in as many ways as she could.  And...in some ways...she succeeded."  
  
Molly looked up again with a shaky smile as she failed to prevent her eyes welling with tears.  
  
"Your flat was rigged with explosives.  She had a timer counting down from three minutes from the moment your phone rang.  I was tasked with making you say...those words, without letting on anything was wrong before time ran out."  
  
Molly gasped as the meaning became clear.  "And...if I hadn't..."  
  
Sherlock nodded, speaking his next words with care.  "If you hadn't.  Except..."  
  
She looked up again questioningly, and behind them John's breath hitched.  
  
"When it was over she revealed that she had lied.  There never were any explosives.  Because if there were it would all be justified."  
  
Molly's lips were pressed tightly closed, and as she shook her head a tear slid down her cheek.  
  
Sherlock stepped close to her again and she looked up with a startled, silent gasp.  
  
"But in the end, whether the danger was real or not makes no difference."  
  
Molly peered at him in confusion.  
  
"But...?"  
  
Sherlock's brow rose as he put her thoughts into words.  "Why should it hurt _me?_ "  
  
Molly suddenly gaped at him and took a step back.  
  
"No...  Sherlock, don't," she choked out.  
  
"Why not?"  
  
"Because I—" her breath caught and she looked down again, "because I can't...I can't take it again, if..."  
  
Sherlock reached out and took both of her hands in one of his.  
  
"Molly."  
  
"No," she said, shaking her head again.  
  
John saw her tears glistening in the moonlight as they fell.  
  
"Molly, listen to me.  You are my friend, and—"  
  
"No!" she wrenched away from him and threw herself back against the car.  
  
Both men watched as her shoulders heaved with each anxious breath, her forehead resting on her folded hands.  
  
John slowly stepped up beside Sherlock and looked into his face.  
  
The detective peered down at him with hollow eyes.  John could never recall seeing his friend so depleted.  
  
Sherlock's shoulders trembled as he shrugged.  
  
"You were right," he said with a sigh.  
  
One corner of John's mouth twitched upward, but he shook his head.  "You're doing fine."  
  
Sherlock sighed again.  "Context?"  
  
"C-context," John said, his teeth chattering loudly as he nodded.  
  
He watched as Sherlock drew a long breath and steeled himself.  Then, quivering fingers reached up and turned his coat collar down as he stepped toward Molly again.  
  
In the seconds that had passed her shoulders had stopped shaking and she was standing a bit straighter.  But upon hearing the detective's approach, her whole body tensed.  
  
"Molly," Sherlock said gravely.  
  
She shook her head again, then gasped as Sherlock put his hands on her shoulders and forced her to turn around.  
  
John held his breath.  
  
"No..." she breathed, pushing her hands against his arms.  But he was unrelenting.  
  
"Molly, look at me and keep looking at me," he insisted.  John heard what was becoming an all-too-familiar crack in his friend's voice.  
  
He watched as the young pathologist drew on whatever strength she had left, the set of her jaw like iron as she finally looked up at Sherlock.  
  
"Eurus could hurt me, because..." he began, his voice rising in timbre.  "Because I—"  
  
He stopped suddenly and looked back at John, revelation in his eyes.  John narrowed his eyes in question.  
  
Sherlock turned back to Molly and increased the volume of his voice.  John knew it was for his benefit.  "Because despite all my efforts...despite a lifetime of denying all sentiment because of _her_ childhood crimes—"  
  
His voice broke, and John took a step closer.  
  
Molly's eyes widened in astonishment.  
  
"In the end I am still...just...human.  And how do you really, truly hurt a human being?"  
  
John knew from the shaking of his voice that Sherlock's eyes had welled with tears, and new ones fell freely down Molly's cheeks.  
  
"You hurt the people they love."  
  
Molly shook her head, but Sherlock nodded firmly.  
  
"Yes."  
  
A single sob escaped Molly's lips as Sherlock pulled her into a hug.  Her fingers dug into his coat sleeves and he pressed his arms tightly around her.  
  
"I'm so sorry."  
  
John watched as the world around them seemed to become smaller, and the only sounds were Molly's soft cries muffled by Sherlock's heavy lapel.  
  
Sherlock looked upward and blinked several times to rid himself of the unshed tears.  He had certainly shed plenty already that day, John knew.  
  
Glancing around in the dark the detective's eyes alighted on John and he blinked again seeming startled, as if he had momentarily forgotten the doctor was there.  
  
He cast a purposeful glance downward and then looked back to John, his eyes questioning.  
  
John smiled sadly and gave a tiny nod.  
  
The relief in his friend's face was so great that John felt the tension fall from his own shoulders.  He watched as Sherlock lifted a hand to the back of Molly's head and twice stroked her hair.  
  
The action caused the pathologist to pull back and look at him, her sobs ceasing.  He set his hands on her arms again.  
  
"Molly, I'm not..."  For a moment the detective was lost for words, but quickly regathered himself and spoke again in his familiar, steady baritone.  "Recent events...and not-so-recent events, have revealed to me that I am utterly without knowledge in the area of—"  
  
Her breath caught.  
  
"—friendship."  
  
She looked down.  
  
"I know now that such knowledge is essential."  
  
John's jaw fell slack.  
  
"And I hope that...until I learn _how_ to do it properly...  That you will forgive me."  
  
Molly gasped something between a laugh and a sigh and closed her eyes, shaking her head.  When she opened her eyes the faintest of smiles had returned to her face.  
  
"You're not you know," she said quietly.  
  
"What?"  
  
"Not...utterly without knowledge.  Sometimes you get it right."  
  
Sherlock smiled and stared down at her until her own smile wavered under his masterful gaze.  
  
"You're not John," he said.  
  
Slowly he leaned his head down toward her face.  
  
John watched her close her eyes and hold her breath as Sherlock placed a lingering kiss on her cheek.  And then leaning further he placed his lips close to her ear, and John had to strain to hear his soft words.  His jaw hung fully open when he did.  
  
"I love you, Molly Hooper."  
  
Molly's eyes remained closed as he pulled away with equal slowness, finally releasing her and taking a small step back.  
  
Both men watched the slow rise and fall of her shoulders as she breathed in the cold night air.    
  
Beyond the cars John saw Greg approaching again and he quickly took a couple of steps forward to get Sherlock's attention.  Immediately picking up on the signal Sherlock straightened and put his coat collar up as he took another step back and turned to watch the D.I.'s approach.  
  
In that brief moment of distraction John saw what Sherlock didn't.  He saw a smile of unbridled joy bloom on Molly's face as she opened her eyes and looked on the detective with affection.  And he saw that smile fade when she noticed Sherlock's inattention, her face returning again to the practical, lonely expression she usually wore.  
  
John pursed his lips in frustration.  
  
"Sherlock," Molly said, and his eyes snapped back to hers, instantly narrowing as he realized he'd missed something.  "I forgive you."  
  
His eyes narrowed further, still searching for what he'd missed.  But Greg was getting closer.  
  
"Thank you..." he said hesitantly.  "I'll...um..."  
  
"You'll call me," she supplied.  
  
"Yeah," he said with a slight nod.  
  
"And...we'll have coffee."  
  
He pursed his lips.  "Okay."  
  
As Greg reached them Sherlock turned, and John stepped up to join them.  
  
"Helicopter's just left with your sister," Greg reported.  
  
"Where is she being taken?"  
  
"Bronzefield, temporarily.  Your brother insists she go back in that place we got him out of once it's been secured again."  
  
Sherlock nodded and put his hands in pockets, glancing over his shoulder at John.  
  
"Your brother's sending a helicopter for you too.  Should be here in a few minutes," Greg added.  
  
Sherlock waited for John's nod before giving his own to Greg.  
  
"Molly?" he asked then, looking to the young pathologist.  
  
"Oh," she said, seeming startled to be noticed, "I'll just...ride back with Greg."  
  
Sherlock raised his brow at her in question.  
  
"You'll be needing to get John to hospital," she added.  
  
Sherlock nodded slowly, looking at John again who was visibly shivering.  For his part, John was extremely grateful for the soon-arriving helicopter.  
  
"Right.  Well, I'm about finished here," Greg said, looking to Molly.  "Just have a couple more ends to tie up."  
  
"I'll just...I'll wait in the car.  I forgot my coat."  
  
Sherlock looked at her again.  
  
"I'll...see you soon, Sherlock," she said.  
  
Before he could answer she turned and disappeared into the car.  
  
John watched as Sherlock stared at the closed door, his face unreadable.  
  
"She all right?" Greg asked.  
  
"Yeah," John said with a shaky nod, pulling the blanket closer around him.  
  
Sherlock grimaced.  "She forgot her coat."  
  
The two men looked at the detective, who stared at the ground as he pulled his gloves on.  
  
"Right, let's go then."  
  
Greg started off in the direction John assumed would lead to wherever the helicopter would be landing.  
  
Gathering his strength John began to follow, eager to arrive somewhere warm and dry, though he knew the helicopter would only fulfill one of those criteria.  
  
His whole body was shivering so much now that he worried he would lose his footing among the tall, damp grass if he didn't mind every step he took.  So it was that he felt rather than saw Sherlock fall into step next to him as he watched the ground in front of him.  
  
Then to his surprise, he felt Sherlock's arm circle around him and gloved fingers press tightly into his shoulder.  
  
He stumbled slightly as Sherlock pulled him close so that their legs brushed as they walked and their sides were pressed together.  He looked up, but Sherlock's gaze was fixed straight ahead and his eyes were narrowed in deep thought.  
  
"Not that I'm...comp— -plaining," he began, his chattering teeth forcing a stutter into his voice, "but are you going to...m-make a habit of this?"  
  
"What?" Sherlock glanced down briefly.  
  
"Hugging."  
  
Sherlock nearly rolled his eyes.  "You're freezing."  
  
"Yeah.  Thanks," John said, pressing closer still, though it caused their pace to be slower.  
  
Greg, walking faster, was increasing the distance between them.  And when he was safely out of earshot, John felt safe speaking about more sensitive subjects.  
  
"So, you'll call her then?"  
  
"Apparently."  
  
A familiar detachment was back in Sherlock's voice, and John wondered suddenly if everything he had just witnessed hadn't been an act.  He knew from too much experience how skilled the Holmes siblings were in that area.  
  
"But I think..." the detective began tentatively, and John looked up to see the disquiet on his friend's face that he'd witnessed only moments ago.  "I'll still do it wrong."  
  
"You didn't just now."  
  
"But she'll expect..." Sherlock's expression twisted in frustration.  
  
"What?  Romance?"  
  
The look Sherlock gave him made him chuckle.  
  
"She knows you Sherlock, she knows you're not going to...suddenly be buying her flowers, or jumping into bed with her."  
  
Sherlock groaned dramatically and rolled his eyes.  "Why does everyone equate love with sex?  The two are rarely even connected."  
  
"You've got half a world who'll disagree with you on that one, mate."  
  
"You see?  Only half."  
  
John laughed.  
  
Ahead of them, Greg turned at the sound and despite the distance John could still see the D.I.'s brows rise.  And of course, John realized, there were other people who had turned more than one curious eye on them as they passed through the cordoned-off field.  
  
"Great, now people will talk again," he said, though he couldn't quite bring conviction into his voice.  
  
"Who cares?" Sherlock said boredly.  "Love isn't sex."  
  
Blinking, John looked up at Sherlock wonderingly.  But the detective's face had become focused and thoughtful again.  
  
"And you'd know...how?" he asked.  But Sherlock was unresponsive.  
  
A light came to John's eyes as something suddenly occurred to him.  "So...you and Irene Adler—"  
  
"Oh, not again!" Sherlock sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose.  
  
"You did say you text her sometimes—"  
  
"A mistake I shall immediately correct if only to stop your constant haranguing me about her," he said forcefully.  "For the last time, romantic involvements are of no usefulness or interest to me."  
  
Sherlock's pace had increased due to his agitation and as a result they weren't walking as closely.  John shivered from the loss of warmth.  
  
"Okay, you don't have romantic interest in her.  You don't love her."  
  
Sherlock fixed him with an impatient glare.  
  
John looked back steadily, attempting to use his friend's methods.  
  
"So...it's just sex, then?"  
  
"Oh!" Sherlock cried in disgust.  He put several feet between them and rubbed his face in both hands before looking up at the sky.  "God save me from this idiocy!" he cried in exasperation.  
  
John's blanket had fallen when Sherlock pulled away and the sting of the night air on his wet clothes started him shivering again.  He pulled the blanket back around his shoulders, but the cold seemed more penetrating now than it had before.  
  
Sherlock turned back to him with fire in his eyes, but stopped short of whatever he was going to say when he saw John hunched over and curling into himself again.  He grimaced in self-reproach and returned to John's side, putting his arm tightly around him again.  They resumed walking.  
  
"Why do you care?" Sherlock asked after several moments' silence, looking at him in genuine confusion.  
  
John smiled mirthlessly and raised his brows at him before looking off into the night.  "You know, I don't know?  Forget it."  
  
"I shall.  Thank you."  
  
Far ahead of them now Greg's torch was leading the way into a clearing.  They were passing out of the glow of the floodlights and the listening ears of the local police force.  
  
"Did it never occur to you," Sherlock continued after a minute, "that maybe it's the other way around?"  
  
"What?" John said looking back to his friend in confusion.  
  
"That maybe I understand the difference between love and sex not because I'm well-learned in the latter but the former?"  
  
John blinked, and slowly shook his head.  "No, that...hadn't occurred to me."  
  
Sherlock gave him a sidelong glance and John felt appropriately reproved.  
  
"Sorry, yeah, I...I guess that should have occurred to me first."  
  
Sherlock shrugged off the heaviness of the moment and smirked ever so slightly.  "Well, I love Molly, I love you.  I'm not shagging either one of you."  
  
John frowned and swallowed down the bile that accompanied his friend's casual crudeness.  "Yeah, I guess so.  Yeah, you're right.  Sorry, Sherlock."  
  
His friend gripped his arm tightly for a moment and his smirk grew.  John watched his face curiously.  
  
"Besides..." Sherlock continued, his eyes fixed forward.  "The Woman is not as skilled in her craft when she allows sentiment to cloud her judgment.”  
  
John's eyes widened.  "But...?  You...?"  
  
Sherlock's lips were pursed tightly together in a smile.  He glanced down at John briefly and let out a small, self-satisfied hum.  
  
John's mouth flew open.  "I knew it!  Oh!  You git!"  
  
"There, fine, satisfied now?" Sherlock said in annoyance, but his eyes still twinkled with laughter.  
  
"Oh my—!  But when?  And how is she alive anyway?  Mycroft said she'd been killed by terrorists," he said all in a rush.  
  
"The terrorists weren't expecting me," he said coldly.  
  
"So you saved her?  And then...?"  
  
A corner of Sherlock's mouth rose.  He glanced briefly at John again and lowered his voice conspiratorially.  "Do you remember when she was in our flat, and said she could make me beg for mercy twice?"  
  
John's eyes widened.    
  
Sherlock sighed, feigning nonchalance.  But his eyes sparkled with mischief.  "You know me, John.  I could never resist a challenge."  
  
John's jaw dropped again and stayed that way for several seconds.  "Oh my...  But, she texts you now.  Do you ever...?"  
  
Sherlock had regained most of his equanimity and shook his head once.  "Nope."  
  
"Why not?"  
  
"Well, her game is over.  She used to try to goad me back in.  But since I won..." he said and shrugged his shoulders.  
  
John gaped again for several seconds but then shook his head and started chuckling.  "You prick."  
  
Sherlock took a deep breath and looked at him deadpan.  "Yeah."  
  
They both dissolved into laughter as they caught up with Greg, who was shaking his head and looking at them with a mixture of sympathy and bewilderment.  
  
"Helicopter will be here in a minute.  Good thing too, before you both go completely off your nut."  
  
"We're allowed to go off our nut, we've just been through Moriarty's version of _Saw_ ," John said.  
  
" _Saw_?" Sherlock asked.  
  
"A horror film," Greg said.  "Really?"  
  
Overhead, the telltale sound of rotor blades announced the arriving helicopter.  
  
"Yeah," John said, shivering again as Sherlock released him.  
  
Greg looked between them and then shook his head again.  "Will you both be okay to come in tomorrow to make your report?"  
  
Sherlock looked at John, who nodded.  "Yeah, we can come in tomorrow."  
  
The helicopter had begun its descent, its roar making further conversation impossible.  
  
They made their farewells to Greg with handshakes and were more than ready to climb aboard the transport Mycroft had provided the instant it landed.  In less than a minute they were seated side-by-side with protective earphones on, ready for the journey.  
  
As the helicopter ascended John looked out at the scene for a few moments, but almost nothing was visible in the dark beyond the police lights but the tops of trees and the burnt-out roof of Musgrave Hall.  
  
The view changed as they turned toward London, and John closed his eyes.  The helicopter provided familiar sensations that while not comforting, were better to hold on to than everything he had experienced that day.  And the darkness of his eyelids had him sinking quickly into sleep.  
  
"Seriously though," he heard in his earphones, and opened his eyes to look at Sherlock.  "Molly."  
  
John adjusted his microphone and looked reassuringly at his friend.  "You did fine, Sherlock, probably...better than fine, actually."  
  
Sherlock nodded in agreement.  "And now...phone calls.  And coffee."  
  
John quirked a smile thoughtfully.  "It's like you said.  You still have some things to learn about friendship."  
  
Sherlock gave him a withering stare.  
  
"She won't make you go anywhere you can't, you know.  It's not who she is.  She's after the real thing, always has been."  
  
Sherlock grimaced.  "And when I can't be that for her?"  
  
"You sound certain," John said curiously.  
  
"I am."  
  
"You're doing yourself a disservice, mate."  
  
"Mm," Sherlock hummed in displeasure and shook his head, closing his eyes tightly.  
  
John frowned, and after a moment he shrugged.  "Then it is what it is.  And...it will be what it will be."  
  
Sherlock opened his eyes and stared at him, not quite with 'the face' but something softer.  It was a different look, one John had started noticing after Sherlock had returned from pretending to be dead.  But if he cast his mind back he could remember instances when he had seen it before then.  But each time he had Sherlock would always avert his gaze and pretend he hadn't been looking at him.  
  
"Do _you_ forgive me?" Sherlock asked, startling John.  
  
"Me?" he asked in confusion.  
  
"For dragging you into all this.  For putting you through that ordeal."  
  
John looked down and closed his eyes again.  But this time instead of darkness he saw vivid images.  A gun in his hands aiming at an innocent man's head.  Two more innocent men falling to their deaths in the sea.  Sherlock holding a gun under his own chin and counting down from ten as he stared at nothing.  And the skull of a child in his hands as water rose around him marking the minutes of his life.  
  
He looked up and bit his lip briefly as he met Sherlock's eyes again.  
  
"I'm the one who suggested the clown and bleeding paintings, remember?"  
  
Sherlock grinned at the ridiculous memory, but sobered instantly and looked away.  "Friends...don't risk their friends' lives though.  Do they."  
  
John blinked a few times as his understanding of 'the other face' started to coalesce.  "It's my life to risk.  It's my choice who my friends are.  And my choice how I spend my life."  
  
Sherlock's gaze remained downcast, his lips pressed together as he struggled against himself.  
  
"Besides..." John continued softly, mustering up his own version of 'the other face.'  "When you love someone you don't mind going through hell, if it might save them."  
  
Sherlock looked up, his brow raised.  
  
"You...should know that that goes both ways, Sherlock."  
  
The detective blinked rapidly as tears came un-beckoned to his eyes.  
  
"John—" he gasped, but got no further for the threat of the tears falling.  
  
"Sherlock.  It is...what it is.  And what it _always_ will be."  
  
Sherlock pursed his lips, speech being impossible.  He nodded briskly, his brow rising in agreement.  
  
John had only ever seen Sherlock's eyes look like they did now once before, the second time he thought he was losing him forever.  So whether it was compassion or stress or a mix of the two, John found his own eyes suddenly stinging with moisture.  
  
"Right," he said roughly, "just one more then, but don't tell anyone."  
  
He pulled his headset off and his ears were assaulted with the thundering of the helicopter blades.  But he didn't want the device in the way as he wrapped his arms around Sherlock and pulled him into a tight hug.  
  
He felt his friend copy his action as the plastic pressed against his cheek was replaced by Sherlock's hair, cold from the wind.  His back and shoulders were suddenly warmed by the firm grip of Sherlock's arms as he returned the embrace.  
  
"Not soldiers anymore," John said deliberately.  
  
Close to his ear, he heard the tense release of Sherlock's breath as he refused to allow himself to weep.  John understood too well and pressed his fingers more tightly into the material of his friend's coat.  He could feel the rapid beating of the detective's heartbeat so close now to his own, and his breaths were coming shallowly and quickly.  
  
"Just one thing, Sherlock," he whispered, putting his lips next to his friend's ear.  "Promise me you'll never turn a gun on yourself again."  
  
He felt Sherlock tense briefly before shifting to speak in the same way.  "Extreme circumstances sometimes necessitate extreme actions."  
  
John dug his fingertips into Sherlock's neck and felt the detective give way under his hold.  
  
"Promise me."  
  
Sherlock sighed.  "I promise."  
  
"Good," he said and relaxed his grip, but stayed in a position where Sherlock could still hear him over the helicopter's roar.  "And I forgive you."  
  
He pulled back just far enough to be able to see Sherlock's face.  Two thin, drying tear tracks were visible on his cheeks and he looked at John questioningly.  
  
"Now I need you to listen to me, and believe me," he continued louder to be heard over the helicopter's roar.  
  
Sherlock nodded.  In his eyes John saw the same desperate need for hope and the same trust he had given back to Sherlock when he finally allowed himself to grieve over Mary.  
  
"Listen to me," he repeated, and Sherlock stared at him.  “I choose how I spend my life.  There's _nothing_ to forgive."  
  
Sherlock pressed his lips together to stop them trembling, and gradually John saw a smile and genuine relief take residence in the bright eyes, along with another welling of tears.  
  
"Yeah okay, one more," John said, tightening his arms around Sherlock again.  His friend returned the gesture more calmly this time.  "But you really don't want to make a habit of this."  
  
"Why not?" Sherlock said in his ear, and John heard the mirth was back in his friend's voice.  
  
"Might hurt your image."  
  
"You're responsible for my image," Sherlock countered.  
  
"Am I now?"  
  
"Your blog.  As I've said for years, leave sentiment out of it."  
  
"People like to know you're human," John reminded him.  
  
"Then it would seem you're contradicting yourself."  
  
Sherlock leaned back and John did likewise, re-adjusting the blanket around his shoulders.  
  
Sherlock said something to him, but separated now he couldn't hear it over the helicopter's engine.  
  
Instantly discerning the problem, Sherlock picked up John's discarded headset from the floor and handed it to him, afterward retrieving his own from the seat.  
  
When John had re-secured the device and adjusted the microphone, he looked up to see Sherlock narrowing his eyes in feigned annoyance.  
  
"I'll thank you to keep my public image separate from my private one henceforth," Sherlock repeated, his voice sounding mechanical now through the earphones.  
  
John grinned thoughtfully.  "You're right."  
  
Sherlock's brow rose in surprise.  
  
"Your life is no one's business but your own."  
  
John leaned back, his shoulder pressing into Sherlock's as he did so.  He closed his eyes as exhaustion began to overwhelm his wasted nervous system now that the danger was finally, completely passed.  
  
"You haven't written your blog in quite some time," he heard Sherlock say through the microphone.  
  
John smiled tightly.  "It's _all_ been too personal ever since...since Mary..."  
  
"I'm sure the criminal classes will continue their ill-advised pursuits without any additional motivation."  
  
John peered at him.  "If my blog is encouraging crime waves then I should stop writing it all together."  
  
"No.  It effects rather the opposite, I'm afraid."  
  
John turned to face him a bit more.  "Then...why did you start encouraging me to write it?"  
  
Sherlock pursed his lips and then looked toward John with something like 'the other face,' except it was more exhortative.  
  
"Apparently, it gives people hope.  A place for the desperate and terrified, you said."  
  
The corners of John's mouth twitched upward and he laid his head back again, fully embracing the darkness this time as he closed his eyes.  
  
"What are you going to do about the flat?"  
  
"I haven't thought about it," Sherlock said.  
  
"You're welcome to stay as long as you need, you know."  
  
"I know.  Can I bring clients?"  
  
"No."  
  
"Do you really want me to start shooting your walls?" Sherlock threatened.  
  
John looked at him in genuine alarm, before frowning and shaking his head.  
  
"Okay, but only when Rosie is at the sitter's."  
  
"That's when you're at work," Sherlock complained.  
  
"Of course it is.  Sherlock, you solve crimes without me all the time," John pointed out.  
  
"Not as much fun," Sherlock grumbled.  
  
A corner of John's mouth quirked up as a memory suddenly surfaced.  
  
"Just the two of us...?" he said, looking at Sherlock, but the detective was busy doing up the buttons of his coat.  
  
"You remember that, do you?" Sherlock said quietly.  
  
"Only it's not now.  It hasn't been for ages."  
  
Sherlock sighed loudly into the microphone.  "Rosie can't grow up soon enough..."  
  
John furrowed his brow at the odd statement, and then his eyes widened in realization.  
  
"No.  Oh, no.  Sherlock, Rosie is _not_ going to start going on cases with us when she's older.  She's going to have a normal childhood, and a normal life—"  
  
He stopped as Sherlock looked at him with 'the face.'  
  
John's jaw worked up and down for a moment as he searched for arguments, but finally he dropped his eyes and gasped in frustration.  
  
"Damn it."  
  
He was mulling over the implications of what the future held for his daughter who had been born into so troublesome a family when Sherlock spoke again.  
  
"You could always estrange yourself from your friends again, that worked out so well for everyone the last time."  
  
John looked at Sherlock in open shock, who did a double-take when he saw the expression on the doctor's face.  
  
The detective's eyes widened in alarmed realization.  "Sorry."  
  
John blinked, smiled tightly, and turned away, staring out of the helicopter into the darkness.  
  
The world was an opaque, silky blue in the moonlight, yet the darkness was impenetrable.  It was impossible for John to know if he was looking at sky or landscape or something else.  
  
That unknown suddenly felt confining, and a strange rush of memories raced through his mind—of the well, the bonfire, the crowd on the pavement at St. Bart’s, and the bomb at the pool.    
  
He was surprised when that was where they stopped, having expected images of the burned-out Afghani village to come next.  But they didn’t.    
  
And he realized that each memory that had assaulted him all included one common fear.  
  
"Utterly without knowledge..."  
  
His friend's murmured words of self-loathing brought him out of his fateful study, and he heard clear signs of desperation in the voice.  
  
He sighed softly and shook his head.  
  
"John?  I'm sorry."  
  
"At least Rosie won't want for company," he said, turning back to face Sherlock.  
  
The detective blinked in a genuine lack of understanding.  
  
"Molly," John explained.  "Well, she'll certainly be around more now, won't she?"  
  
John watched Sherlock blink away the fear that had so quickly overtaken him.  
  
"Just the four of us?" the detective said with a slight frown.  
  
"And Greg sometimes," John added with a nod.  "And we can't leave Mrs Hudson out."  
  
Sherlock leaned back again and rolled his eyes toward the ceiling of the helicopter.  
  
"You are missing the point, John," he sighed.  
  
John chuckled.  "No, you are."  
  
Sherlock narrowed his eyes on him.  
  
"When we first met...it was just you.  And it was still just you for a long time after, because you wouldn't let anyone past that...” John gestured with one hand outside his blanket to indicate his friend’s hermetic facade.  
  
Sherlock's eyes slowly widened.  "Mycroft was right..."  
  
John blinked and shook his head.  “Sorry, what?"  
  
"Everything...I...am...  I am my memories of Eurus.  What she did to me."  
  
Sherlock gave a single, mirthless laugh and shook his head in disbelief.  
  
John swallowed and turned to face his friend.  "It used to be."  
  
Sherlock turned toward him, his eyes questioning.  
  
“Like I was saying.  When we first met, it was just you.  It was still just you when you threw yourself off that bloody roof."  
  
John paused as Sherlock tensed in front of him.  But for his friend's sake he pressed on.  
  
"And then...you came back.  And you helped me plan my wedding.  You wrote a song for Mary and me.  You wouldn't let me walk away from her after she shot you, and you wouldn't let her run away because—"  
  
He stopped as the more painful memories threatened his control, and he looked away for several moments to gather himself.  
  
"Because...it wasn't just you anymore.  It was you, and me, and Mary...and Mrs Hudson, and everyone else who you've ever tried to pretend didn’t matter.”  
  
Sherlock's eyes were unblinking, fixed intently on his.  He took a deep breath.  
  
"The only reason Eurus could do what she did today...is because you've already escaped from the reality she forced on you.  So yes," he said with a nod, "sometimes it is just the two of us.  But everyone, all of your friends, will be ready to go against the rest of the world with you, whenever you need them.  Because you're not who Mycroft says you are.  Not anymore."  
  
Sherlock lightly pressed his lips together and swallowed slowly.  And giving a slight nod of acknowledgment, he leaned back against the bench and closed his eyes, a long sigh escaping his nose.  
  
John leaned back but kept his eyes on Sherlock’s face—on the twisted brow and uncertain set of his jaw.

He blinked a few times, and then a dawning light came to his eyes.  He smiled to himself as he adjusted the blanket over his wet clothes and settled back against his friend’s warm side once again.  
  
"But Sherlock," he said, knowing his friend could still hear him, "whenever...you need it to be...  It can be just the two of us."  
  
John closed his eyes, ready to let sleep take him finally until they arrived in London.  But before he drifted into the comfortable blackness he felt gloved fingers steal beneath his blanket and entwine with his.  
  
He smiled.  
  
  
  
FIN

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: The feels! All the feels! Do comment and critique please, I'm really proud of this.
> 
> I'd like to say that I do NOT believe Sherlock slept with Irene. I know Ben says he did, and Mofftiss say he didn't. But it made for a good story, so I wrote it. Meh. Also, I ship nothing! Canon-only forever!
> 
> Now, a fandom rant. If you don't want to lose your warm fuzzies from the fic, stop here. Go read owlcroft instead.
> 
> TL;DR: I liked S4, and the fandom has lost its marbles.
> 
> Let's start with a dose of reality... Mofftiss are making a TV show that has to appeal to everyone! It is not targeted at any one demographic. They have a limited budget, limited staff, and limited time to put it all together. To keep some secrets they have to keep all the secrets, but that does not mean that there are secret secrets *cough 4th ep cough*.
> 
> 1) Editing errors. The blood/no blood in TLD? Dialogue in TST? Okay yes, we get it. In their numerous takes there were some goofs. Go to any IMDB trivia page and you can read about the production goofs in every show/film in existence.
> 
> "But it's Sherlock! They're better than that!"  
> \----Yes, we'd hope so. But nobody's perfect. Did that lamp on/off in TFP really affect your viewing? We can be forgiving of minor things.  
> "But in HLV they said no blood spurts in gunshot wounds, and we see one in TST!"  
> \----Is it the same director of photography? Effects team? I know it's not the same director. Remember you're watching an entertainment program that ultimately just needs to make money.  
> "The dialogue issues in TST though!"  
> \----Now that one does bother me. Likely just bad editing.
> 
> 2) Queerbaiting. Mofftiss have said from the very beginning that Sherlock and John ARE NOT GAY on THEIR program. You can make them gay in YOUR fics. But just because they didn't write your ship into their show doesn't mean they are horrible people, that they killed the show, that they are misrepresenting certain demographics, etc. Stop attacking them!
> 
> "But the villains are all gay! They're villifying homosexuality!"  
> \----The villains are not all gay. And there are gay characters in the show who are normal people too, or did you forget?  
> \----I read a great tumblr post from a gay person who said they were sick of straight people turning his way of life into their sexual fantasies. And from the fact that I can find almost no fics on this site without gay porn I think that person is right.  
> "But Mofftiss are liars about everything!"  
> \----They've said themselves that to keep one big secret they have to keep everything secret. They've scarcely actually lied about anything. The only real thing was that TAB wasn't a standalone.
> 
> 3) Plotholes. Loose ends? Where? Seriously, where? Please tell me. I'll be happy to explain what you've missed!
> 
> "John's letter!"  
> \----Is not important.  
> "The rope in the well! Bad writing!"  
> \----Stop boring me and think! How do you save John Watson? Turn off the water! And then a floodlight shines down there. Obviously, Sherlock got the water off, phoned 999, and the police have shined the light and will be sending a rescue person down to get him out of the chains. Where would Sherlock suddenly get a floodlight?  
> \----This has been the most annoying part of the fandom, is people who make absurd claims when clearly they've not paid enough attention to the show. This show requires you to not look away, to read between the lines, and to notice everything!
> 
> 4) The show has gone bad? No...but it did go another directon. S1/S2 are from John's POV. S3/TAB/S4 are from Sherlock's. But the show's strength is in seeing Sherlock through John's eyes, so I hope they return to that for S5. And TFP? It just needed to be 2 hours long instead of 90 minutes. There was nothing wrong with it, it was just tons of stuff crammed into too small a time. They didn't want to leave anything out, worried it would be the last episode. 30 more minutes would have helped it.
> 
> Oh...and stop inventing derogatory terms for people who don't share your point of view. People who don't support TJLC being called "Antis," really? You have your ship, we have our non-ship. It's all fine. Until someone starts being rude about it. And just because we don't spend our free time posting meta on tumblr doesn't make us "Casuals." Some of us have lives, jobs, and are lucky to get a good fic read in once a week.
> 
> Now here's why I think the fandom went nuts... Back in TSoT we see Sherlock's mind palace in a new way. This is expanded in HLV, and TAB is the ultimate mind palace story (and it was awesome!). But look, they already did one "it's all a dream" episode. They're not going to do more. It's a TV show! It has to work for millions! Not just a few thousand tumblr-nuts.
> 
> I hit the character limit for this box. So, the end.


End file.
